


Clash of the Academics

by wingedlioness



Series: bunny comedy [12]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 11:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14693625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedlioness/pseuds/wingedlioness
Summary: Killian Jones and Emma Swan both want the same grant from their university.





	Clash of the Academics

**Author's Note:**

> only T for wicked minor swearing.

Killian erased the whiteboard, relishing the sound of students chattering about their subjects in the hallway. There was something decidedly serene about a recently emptied classroom. Quiet after the storm of discussion, yet it still hummed. Funny how a place could feel more alive without the people it was designed for in it. 

He spent a few more minutes making the whiteboard spotless, before turning his attention to the table. Killian sighed, there was no accounting for how slovenly some students could be. The thought of leaving any of the mess to the janitorial staff didn’t even cross his mind. That would just be bad form. Never mind the department head meeting that was to immediately follow lunch. 

He ducked beneath, intent on retrieving the soda bottles that had rolled under. 

A gasp from the doorway made him start, only to thwack his head on the table above it. 

“Ow.”

He pulled back, rubbing his head as soon as he was clear. Only no one was there, the sound of boots clipping off down the hall. 

 

***

 

Emma ducked into the stairwell, not stopping until she reached the lounge area on the floor above. 

…

Did she seriously just run away? She’d just wanted to get to the room early, triple check her grant paperwork, maybe think up a way to try and convince Jones that her project needed the funding more than his. She never expected…  _ that. _

Holy hell, the ass on that man was going to haunt her for days. His face already did the trick, then there was that time he’d caught her and his stupid biceps wound up invading her dreams… 

Emma took deep breaths, willing the red in her cheeks to go the fuck away already. Now was not the time to be distracted by a nice piece of ass _ (fucking hell, that was an understatement) _ . 

Yes, he was hot. Yes, he was smart. Yes, he was charming ( _ just ask Tink  _ her treacherous mind whispered). But right now he was the enemy and she had to focus. She could fantasize about him  _ after  _ the grant was hers. 

 

***

 

Mary Margaret was the only one in the room when Killian got back from grabbing a coffee. He heaved a sigh of relief before ducking his head out the door to check for incoming people, and headed towards the Dean. 

“Ah, Killian. How were your morning classes?”

“Grand, thanks, did you get my email?”

Her soft smile immediately dropped, concern lacing her features as she closed her laptop. 

“I did. So you mean it? You really want to pull your project out of contention for the grant? It’s going to be impossible to get funding elsewhere this late in the year.”

Killian shrugged, attempting to sit down as nonchalantly as possible. She was right, of course, but Emma’s words he’d never been intended to overhear kept echoing in his head.

 

_ “I really don’t see why we need a Classics department, Mary Margaret. It’s not like it’s anything useful. Can’t it just stay divided up under philosophy and one of the Romance language departments?”  _

_ Mary Margaret’s laugh bounced down the hallway. “Emma, we’ve had a Classics department for nearly five years now, and it was something students had been begging for. Your problem isn’t with the department, it’s with the new Head, isn’t it?” _

_ Killian froze in his classroom. He was fairly certain the Dean of Faculty and what sounded like the delectable psychology department head had no idea the topic of their conversation was within earshot. His blood boiled. Swan may have been gorgeous, and he thought she may have reciprocated his interest after the time she tripped right into his arms… but here she was denigrating him? To their boss? Bad form. He gritted his teeth, readying to go and confront the women. _

_ “I know how much you need the grant, Emma, but every faculty member is eligible to apply. His project sounds really fascinating actually. I think you’d like it.” _

_ “But, but without that grant, there’s no way we can do the prison outreach program. I’ve tried all of the usual charities, but everyone is tapped out. Those kids need someone in their corner-” _

_ His jaw dropped. All those faculty meetings, all the flirtations he’d managed to sneak in with her, all the interactions with her son he’d witnessed, and he’d never heard Swan’s voice waver like that. The sound of their footsteps starting again broke him out of his reverie, and he threw his headphones in his ears quickly, unwilling to continue listening in on what was now a very private conversation. _

 

“My mates in England have been pestering me to come back for a holiday, figured after five years they earned a visit for their troubles.”

“Really?” Mary Margaret furrowed her brow at him before shrugging. “If you’re really sure… I’ll email the board now.”

“I appreciate it, luv.”

He leaned back in his chair, the tension leaving his shoulders. The scrape of a chair beside him startled him.

Tink grinned at him, saying a quick hello to the Dean, before nudging his shoulder. “I heard that you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Killian kept his eyes trained on his rings, prosthetic firmly holding his leg down from bouncing nervously. 

“You, giving up the grant.”

“I just realized I’d rather spend my summer sailing with the lads than researching.”

Tink pursed her lips at him and shook her head. “You can deflect all you want, I know you, Killian. You gave up the grant for Emma, so she’ll get it. You two were the only ones with a shot this year and you know it.”

She sat back, smug grin in place. Killian sighed, and looked up to see Emma in the doorway. His heart began beating erratically but he managed to shoot her a smirk, running his tongue along his lip.

 

***

 

Killian’s smoulder was at complete odds with the blush on his cheeks, and Emma couldn’t help wondering if he was even aware of it. His tongue poking out between his mesmerizing lips helped her roll her eyes, taking the seat across from him as if she hadn’t just had the urge to slide across the table into his lap. He was the enemy right now, she reminded herself. Seriously though, how was the man a Classics professor? He had no grandpa sweaters, no dorky glasses. Leather jackets, fitted jeans, mussed hair, and more rings than the rest of the faculty combined on one hand was not how professors were supposed to look. The rest of the department heads filtered in, and Emma steeled herself to ignore Jones and just get through the meeting.

 

The next hour was reasonably uneventful, even with Tink’s weird smile any time Emma and Killian agreed on something. Thankfully everyone dispersed quickly, leaving Emma alone with Mary Margaret as she gathered her things.

“Oh good, Emma, I’m glad you stayed behind.”

Emma startled, the pleas for the grant on the tip of her tongue.

“I only emailed the board an hour ago, but you should be hearing from them shortly that the grant is yours.”

She blinked, opening and shutting her mouth a few times before words came out. “Wait, what?”

“The grant.” Mary Margaret put down her bag to give her a quick hug. “Killian dropped his project from consideration, so the grant will be yours.”

Emma squeezed her back, her mind still reeling to catch up. “Wait, wait, wait… what? What do you mean he dropped out?”

Mary Margaret gave her a pointed look as she picked her stuff back up. “He said his friends were bugging him to hang out. Which I’m sure is the real reason a man that had his application in within hours of submissions being open would decide he didn’t want a grant to do research he’s spent his entire career trying to do.”

She studied Emma for a moment while she stood in shock. The relief and joy was warring with complete confusion, Emma thought her brain may implode under the strain.

“I believe he was intending to work on grading before heading home, if you wanted to ask him yourself.”

Mary Margaret tilted her head towards his office, tapping her foot until Emma nodded slowly. “Good. Congratulations, Emma.”

She stared at the empty doorway for a while.  _ What just happened? _

 

***

 

Killian groaned. Not only was the paper poorly cited, but they had mixed in Latin quotes with the Greek ones? He was questioning his determination to finish grading this set before sneaking the rum out of his bottom drawer when there was a soft knock at his door.

“Swan? What brings you this way?”

He fought the urge to leap to his feet. She looked really good in his office, the sunlight from across the hall shining through her hair. Not for the first time, the thought of her sprawled on his little couch crossed his mind. 

She smiled at him, and he felt his insides melt. 

Emma nodded at his hair, “grading going well?”

His hand reached up immediately to run through his hair again and he chuckled. “I have a tell, I see.”

“Have a sec?”

Killian nodded, standing to motion to the chair in front of his desk. Emma closed the door behind her, and he found himself intensely curious. She was acting… almost squirrelly. For the confident Swan, it was very out of character.

 

***

 

Emma couldn’t quell the butterflies in her stomach. Killian had looked so  _ good _ when she knocked. His trademark jacket was hanging over the back of his chair, and he’d rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. Everything about him looked softer than normal, more open. She swallowed as she toyed with the chair he’d motioned to, choosing to stand beside it instead. His brow furrowed, and he moved to lean against his desk instead of resuming his seat. 

“What’s wron-”

“Why did you drop your grant application?”

“Ah,” his hand scratched behind an ear, and he looked away. “Decided on other plans is all.”

“Don’t lie to me. Please.”

Killian met her eyes through his lashes, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. “You needed it.”

Her heart was drumming through every nerve. “You mean, you dropped it… for me?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

He sighed, fingers going back behind the ear before running through his hair. “Greece isn’t going anywhere, Swan. While we may disagree on the relevancy on ancient civilizations, I can’t-”   
Emma had enough, of watching his fingers tease his locks, of his tongue sweeping out along his lips, of the red tinge on his cheeks. She reached out for his vest, pulling him off the desk and crashing into her chest, mouth finally meeting his own. 

His lips were warm against hers, firm and willing. His prosthetic came around behind her, pulling her torso further into his, holding her against him as his hand came up to cup her jaw. She eased her fingers off his vest, traveling up to circle his neck and bury themselves in his hair. He moaned when she tugged his head further down and she couldn’t stop a responding smile. The motion gave him the opportunity to flick his tongue between her lips, and Emma’s knees weakened under his fervor. 

Eventually Emma pulled away, and Killian chased after her, settling for resting his nose along hers. 

“Um, so,” Emma managed, trying to catch her breath. “Want to get dinner or something?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Swan?”

“Well, according to the Dean I just got a really big grant for an outreach program for incarcerated mothers so I should probably celebrate.”

Killian laughed, and Emma’s toes curled at the sound. “I think we could come up with a few things worthy of such an accomplishment, luv.” 

She stepped out of his arms, grin widening as he pouted at her departure. 

“I’m counting on it. See you at seven.” 

She twirled, casting a last look over a shoulder, relishing the completely fuckstrucked look on his face and even messier hair than usual. 

 

***

 

Mary Margaret peeked around the corner, and watched Emma float down the hall. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s about time,” Tink whispered happily.

Mary Margaret chuckled but nodded. “No kidding.”


End file.
